Sifting through the broken pieces, I often find shards of you. And I wonder how much of what I am is framed within the reference of you. And how much is my own wanting of a very different thing. A thing you never were.

Your eyes, for example. My eyes. The way you raise your eyebrow. Mine. Your wicked, gutter humour. All a part of me.

And what if the deficit was never voiced? If comparisons where never made? Would I have really wanted more? Would I have just held you there, as you are? Complete in all you could be. Or would I still have ached for something more? Something with a flash more pride. A little more interest.

But you’ve taught me so very, very well. A fortress of humour. Each layered buttress constructed to rebuff. Impenetrable. Never weak. And I know this legacy will make me safe. But at what cost? Do I really want to be like you? Yes. And absolutely no.

So where is this learning unlearnt? How do I mend the broken parts? How do I keep myself safe (strangely, from the likes of you) and still be open? Willing? Would it heal all of me, to know? Or just show me yet another way to sift and fit the pieces of myself together?


7 thoughts on “Pieces

  1. micatyro says:

    …just don’t want to contemplate that they might one day became their mothers…

  2. dex says:

    their fathers Mica.

    That’s what this sounds like to me, anyway.

    Nicely written Dolce.

  3. micatyro says:

    …right Dex… wonder if he likes high-heels as much as D?

  4. ramon says:

    You should post more often, do you know that?

  5. dolce says:

    Nope Gaz. Dex knows my Achilles’ heel.

    And Mica. I don’t even sift for the stuff that looks like mum. It’s all over me like a bad rash (ag, she’s not too bad, the old bat) In that regard, I’ve acquiesced to the laws of PGM (poor genetic material).

    As for Dad in heels? Once, I think. For a party. Not pretty.


  6. dolce says:

    Too busy wading through the quagmire, trying to find Part VII.

    But ta.

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